


For the Good Times

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual, Consensual dating robots, Dating, Doctors & Physicians, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Pharma before he was a sleaze, Robots, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mild alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet comes back from Delphi with a post-combat stress reaction and a terrifyingly intimate souvenir of his former lover.  Now Ratchet’s dreams are filled with memories of what he’s lost, while his new appendages take matters into their own…hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bridges That We're Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [extension_cord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extension_cord/gifts).



> This story can be considered a prequel to "Mend What is Broken" and is canon with that story, but it's also a jumping-off point for an alternate Dratchet idea I have.
> 
> I took care to minimize teacher/student, abuse of power, dub con, or inappropriate relationship scenes in this story. Ratchet does the right thing and keeps his hands off Pharma until Pharma's not his student, not his subordinate, and there's no longer anything inappropriate or creepy about them dating/being intimate with each other. That being said, student Pharma is less inclined to do the right thing and kisses his teacher without asking permission. Also, given that the story starts with Pharma being Ratchet's student, there are scenes in which Ratchet has to turn Pharma down to avoid an inappropriate relationship, and Ratchet feeling guilty even when they are both the equivalent of consenting adults without the power differential between them. If just the thought of such things is upsetting for you, you'll want to give this story a miss. 
> 
> It's my belief that, although Pharma has his issues, his relationship with Ratchet was, originally, good and healthy, and stayed that way for some time. That's what this story is about.
> 
> "For the Good Times" is a Kris Kristofferson song that is actually older than I am. Imagine.
> 
> Takes place immediately after MTMTE #5.

Make believe you love me

One more time

For the good times

\--sung by Kris Kristofferson

Chapter One: The Bridges That We’re Burning

Had Ratchet been more alert, he would have recognized the warning signs. He would have had some forewarning. But when he’d stumbled off the transport and onto the Lost Light, he’d thought of nothing more than filing a preliminary report and heading to his berth to rest. His body still ached from his close call with the rust plague, and his spark…

His spark hurt worst of all.He’d barely made it out of Delphi alive. He, and Drift and Pipes, and Ambulon and First Aid, had barely survived, and all because the mechanism he had once called his _conjunx endura_ had decided it was better to set off a sonic virus than admit to Autobot High Command that he’d been forced into cutting a deal with the DJD. 

And yet, some perverse corner of Ratchet’s mind still thrilled at his miraculous rebirth. Here he was, at the end of his career, wearing out and seizing up and suddenly, out of nowhere, he’d been granted a last-minute reprieve. His hands were suddenly nimble and responsive, as good as ever…but they weren’t really his. They were Pharma’s.

While his brain argued that it was foolish for him to walk away and leave good hands to rust, his spark throbbed, because he remembered…

He remembered a time long ago and far away, when killing had been the last thing on Pharma’s mind. 

Ratchet was worn out, body and soul, and he needed to rest. He crept into his berth and pulled a tarp over his aching body, thinking of what might have been and what used to be. 

Lost in memories and regrets, Ratchet fell asleep without ever diagnosing the reason for the trembling in his electromagnetic field. He’d never guessed that his body was converting the performance-enhancing chemicals it had generated in preparation for further combat, remaking them into the blend to fuel arousal.

Ratchet and Rung were both well-acquainted with the Cybertronian impulse to celebrate life in the midst of death. Both physicians understood that near-misses and grueling campaigns drove ordinarily sedate bots into acts of impulsive debauchery. Rung was usually the one to deal with the emotional fallout of regrets, unexpected attachments, betrayed partners and identity crises. Ratchet saw mostly viruses and bad code downloaded during unprotected interface. Both doctors had noticed how close calls affected the health of their patients, both mental and physical, leading them to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. 

The problem was only exacerbated when a mech wasn’t operating at peak capacity. After a near miss, lots of bots overindulged in engex or dabbled in drugs, from relatively mild fuel additives and carb foggers to dangerous circuit boosters and nitrous blends. Ratchet, as a medic, had made a vow long ago not to take the substances he used in his work on a recreational basis. He’d seen too many good medics wreck once they’d started down that road. 

He hadn’t even had any engex after Delphi. He’d gone to his berth stone sober.

But fatigue was as much an intoxicant as engex or carb foggers.

Ratchet’s consciousness swam towards wakefulness like a submarine surfacing from the depths, but it failed to breach into full alertness. Instead, Ratchet hung just below the surface of sleep, mostly awake but still partly asleep, in a grey land where dream and reality walked hand in hand. His circuits buzzed insistently with the charge he’d been ignoring. It tore through his systems like a flash fire, setting every node ablaze with lust and craving.

Spurred by impulses from his nervous system, Ratchet’s subconscious cross-referenced his memory banks and drew out an image. 

_Pharma._

Recent memories: the smell of Delphi’s medical bay, Ratchet chasing Pharma up a ladder through a narrow hatch, a message inscribed on a palm: _your friend is sick_. 

Distant memories: a graduation ceremony, Pharma chasing Ratchet across the years, a message inscribed on a wrench: _in service of love._

Two sets of memories collided, colluded, and spun a phantasm which was projected across the screen of Ratchet’s mind’s eye. Pharma, kneeling over Ratchet in his berth. 

Ratchet stirred. In his vision he saw, and felt, Pharma leaning down to kiss him on the lips. The kiss was tender, yet hungry, and Ratchet was not surprised. Pharma had never been one to kiss him goodbye. Pharma’s kisses were always the prelude to something more. 

Ratchet was fine with that. He was running a nice little charge in his systems, it seemed, and conveniently he had his lover right here at hand to deal with that. This was going to feel good, Ratchet thought. His mood was a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. 

He did not think to interrogate the little voice at the back of his mind which was warning him that a certain lack of context was at play here. He didn’t remember coming to the berth with Pharma, even as the dream told him they’d surely spent the evening together. In fact, wasn’t there some very good reason why he and Pharma fragging was at best a bad idea and at worst, perhaps something truly terrible? 

Ratchet shoved that thought away. If it was horrific, he didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to burn this charge. Pharma seemed more than willing, what with that hooded-optic look he was giving Ratchet, a look Ratchet had seen many times before. 

For frag’s sake, this was his _conjunx endura._ Whatever was wrong, Ratchet could figure it out later.

“What are you thinking?” Pharma murmured, leaning down to stroke Ratchet’s chest.

“Nothing.” Ratchet couldn’t make sense of his own thoughts, and didn’t want to get into the bizarre nature of the notions in his head. 

“It had better not be work.” Pharma’s touch was so light, so teasing. Ratchet tried to struggle up onto his elbows, to get closer to his lover’s hand, but it was difficult for some reason. Pharma’s hands splayed forcefully across Ratchet’s chest, pushing him back down. “You need to learn to relax.”

Ratchet looked up at his partner’s saucy smile and his own lips split in a grin. Pharma saw Ratchet watching him and deliberately stretched his arms over his head, twisting his hips to show off his sleek body and his delicate wings. Ratchet knew the show was for his benefit and took the time to appreciate it. He settled his hands on Pharma’s hips, stroking gently. He could feel the weight of Pharma’s thighs straddling his pelvis. Ratchet’s spike knocked insistently against its panel.

No, not yet. Ratchet held back while he admired the sight above him.

Ratchet was not sure how he had ever been so lucky as to catch a lover like this. Pharma had it all: beauty and brains, grace and skill, pedigree and talent, all wrapped up in one gorgeous package. Ratchet, like everyone else, had heard the rumours about Pharma and Zeta Prime and he still couldn’t believe that Pharma had turned down a Prime in favour of a blocky ambulance like him.

If he’d had a time machine—if Ratchet had been able to go back in time and tell his younger self that someday he’d be here, not only with Pharma in his berth, but with Pharma as his bonded mate—well, he knew what would have happened. His younger self would’ve laughed in his face.

Ratchet still couldn’t believe the chain of events that had brought him here. It was clear to anyone with optics and a standard functioning brain that Pharma was insanely attractive. That wasn’t the sort of thing a mentor ought to think about his student. Ratchet’s initial interest had been wholly professional; a desire to meet, and teach, the brilliant young trainee who was reputed to be a virtual savant, blessed with a master’s touch from the moment he was forged. That deftness, combined with a razor-sharp mind, promised great things for the young medic-to-be.

Unfortunately, it was Ratchet’s experience that the mechs at the very top of their junior classes often faltered in medical school. Too accustomed to having everything come easily, they crumbled and came undone when faced with genuine challenges. Too used to coasting on their reputations and smarts, they failed to study and apply themselves in a field where faking one’s way through could cost patients their lives. 

Ratchet had sought out the mech named Pharma with the intention of taking him under his care for some individual mentoring. He was determined this young mech’s potential would not be squandered.

Ratchet had been completely disarmed when the winged beauty he’d seen from the other side of the room had also been the student who answered to the name Pharma.

Ratchet was a professional, and he recovered quickly, but be damned if sometimes it wasn’t hard not to stare while he was lecturing the kid. Pharma had a sort of easy grace about him, a natural smoothness of movement that Ratchet, with his rectangular alt form and sturdy wheelbase, could never match. Still. It never hurt to look. Ratchet was far too much the professional to ever touch.

Pharma was smart, but also interesting to talk to. The youth had travelled widely, taking every opportunity offered to him to see new places and learn new things. Pharma didn’t always have the experience to make sense of what he’d seen, though, and he liked to ask Ratchet for ideas and opinions. They often talked long into the night, not always about things medical.

Until the end of Pharma’s first year in training.

#

Ratchet and Pharma were sitting on the couch in Ratchet’s office, as they had many times before. It was late, but they often lost track of time, sitting here and chatting. Ratchet was too professional to allow intoxicating beverages into his office, but he usually had snacks on hand, and the two of them were far past the stuffy formal arrangement with Ratchet behind his desk and Pharma meekly standing before it. They sat side by side, relaxed and informal, just talking. Ratchet could never have guessed what would happen next.

“There’s been something I’ve wanted to share with you,” Pharma said, “for a long time.”

And much as Ratchet had appreciated the kid’s sleek wings and streamlined figure, he’d been completely taken by surprise when Pharma had leaned in and kissed him.

At first, it was shock that froze Ratchet in place. Then, once he realized what was happening, his first instinct had been to return the kiss. Pharma’s lips were warm, Pharma’s body was willing and Ratchet’s own instincts told him to move his mouth, pull the kid into his arms, and spin up his fans, because he was going to need the cool air. A moment later, his rational mind caught up with his body and told him, firmly, that this was wrong.

Ratchet broke the kiss.

Pharma smiled up at him with a sultry look that sent Ratchet’s engine revving and his tanks churning. The primitive part of Ratchet’s mind told him he would be a fool not to accept what Pharma was clearly offering, and all on his own volition. If Pharma wanted it, why should Ratchet feel badly?

But inappropriate relationships came in more than one variety. Pharma might want this, might be more than willing, but there was still a power imbalance between a teacher and a student. Pharma was his junior, his dependent, his to instruct and care for. Not his to frag, no matter how much Ratchet wanted to enjoy that lovely body or how happy Pharma was to offer it. 

“We can’t do this, kid,” Ratchet said gently. His hands rested lightly on Pharma’s shoulders, not yet breaking the contact, but holding Pharma at a safe distance rather than pulling him close. 

“Sure we can.” Pharma’s smile was that of an iconoclast, perfectly self-assured even as he burned down all that society held sacred. “Who’s going to tell? Me? Why would I risk losing you?” Pharma stepped closer, and put his hand on Ratchet’s cheek. “Who would even be worth telling?”

Pharma talked as though he and Ratchet were the only mechanisms in the whole universe that held any significance whatsoever. Ratchet had been trying to talk the kid out of that arrogance, and yet, there was something strangely seductive about a world reserved for Ratchet and Pharma alone.

“So it all depends,” Pharma continued, folding his other arm around Ratchet’s neck, “on whether _you_ feel the urge to talk. And while I have _every intention_ of giving you something to brag about…” His fingers trailed from Ratchet’s cheek to the hollow beneath his chin, lifting it up to meet his gaze. “…couldn’t you trust yourself to keep quiet, at least until I graduate?”

And then those audacious lips were kissing him again, and Pharma even had the nerve to slip his tongue into Ratchet’s mouth and brush his teacher’s tongue with his own.

Ratchet’s fans roared, hot and hard, but another part of Ratchet felt irritation that Pharma hadn’t respected his _no._ Ratchet shoved Pharma away and stood up, glaring, willing Pharma to give him the respect he was due—not only as a teacher, but as a mechanism.

“What?” Pharma demanded as he rose to his feet, as though he were unwilling to believe that anyone would deny him.

“I said _no_ ,” Ratchet said firmly. “I’m not going to risk _both_ of our careers. _You’d_ be branded as the kind of mech who frags his way into positions of power, when I know damn well you’re fully capable of earning them. _I’d_ be tossed out of the medical establishment in disgrace. You’re a student, and I’m your teacher. That’s abuse of power right there, no matter how willing we both are. Our social standings put us at a different level, and I will _not_ tolerate any accusations of me using my authority to lure you into my berth. Do you understand?”

Pharma pouted.

“Do you understand?” Ratchet persisted.

“Yes,” Pharma said sullenly, kicking at nothing.

Mollified, Ratchet gentled his tone. “Pharma. You’re bright and clever and a joy to teach, and I dearly hope that once you graduate, we’ll become friends as well as colleagues. You’re beautiful and charming, and someday you’ll make some very lucky mechanism very happy. I’m…just not the right person for you to be doing those things with.”

Pharma glanced up at Ratchet. “I could wait for you?”

Ah, impetuous youth. Ratchet shook his head. “Pharma, the healthy thing for you to do is to put me out of your mind and go out on the town with your peers. Find some mechanisms of similar experience and age to socialize with. You’ll surely find someone who…catches your optics,” Ratchet finished lamely, unwilling to vocalize the words he was thinking.

“If you say so,” Pharma said noncommittally. The kid was wilfully refusing to believe what Ratchet told him. Still, Ratchet knew he was right.

“Time changes a lot of things,” Ratchet said, as gently as he could. “How you feel now…I understand it’s very intense for you. But you’re going to change a lot in the upcoming years. If I really care about you, I’m going to give you space to find your own way. To figure out for yourself who you are and what you want. It’s not right for me to pluck you early and keep you for myself without ever letting you experience independence.”

Pharma was silent for a moment, thinking about that. Just when Ratchet had finally dared to hope the lesson might have sunk in, Pharma looked up. Their optics met. “Promise me something.” Pharma’s eyes shone with a feverish light. “When I graduate, and have my own practice, I want you to promise you’ll go out with me. As equals. Promise me that.”

There was no reason in the world why Ratchet should object to such a scenario. When they were both licensed doctors, and when one wasn’t working for the other, there were no ethical hang-ups to hold them back. There would be no potential abuse of power if they were to go out together, interface with one another, or anything in between.

“Sure, kid,” Ratchet said, because it seemed the easiest way to placate Pharma and because there was nothing wrong with the scenario he’d proposed. He knew it would make Pharma feel better, just as surely as he knew that such a date would never occur. Pharma was going to become a great doctor, and build a life of his own. “I promise.”

“Accepted,” Pharma said, and the matter was dropped.

Or so Ratchet believed.

#

Ratchet avoided being alone with Pharma from then on. In his private quarters, Ratchet admitted to himself that part of him hadn’t wanted to stop. Pharma’s soft mouth, that lovely body… A secret corner in Ratchet’s mind loved to fantasize about just what might have happened if he’d followed up on that kiss and taken Pharma back to his berth. The thought of the kid lapping his valve, looking up at him with an eager-to-please expression…or, better yet, his usual _I know I’m very good, but why don’t you tell me anyway, teacher?_ look. 

Why couldn’t he have met Pharma a few years from now, after graduation? When he might have been able to take Pharma home without breaking his ethical code? 

No. Pharma needed him as a mentor. Ratchet would have to take comfort in doing the right thing, rather than pleasure in doing the wrong thing.

At first it was difficult continuing to mentor Pharma, but time went by and no further incidents occurred. Nothing more was even said about that one night’s indiscretion, or about Pharma wanting to date Ratchet. Pharma continued to attend Ratchet’s classes, where he excelled, and seek out Ratchet’s tutoring. The two of them continued their talks, but this time in the libraries and lounges where other mechanisms were around, ensuring no allegations of impropriety. 

And then Ratchet head the rumours.

Hearsay said that Pharma, like Ratchet in his own student days, was getting a reputation as quite the player…and as a very skilful lover. Ratchet watched from the corner of his optic as the other medical students hung off Pharma’s every word, smiling and flirting whenever he spoke to them, brushing against him in the halls. It was good, and right, that Pharma should court his peers. The tiny corner of Ratchet’s spark that was bitterly jealous clamped down tight on itself, smothered under the weight of Ratchet’s morality.

Three years flew by swiftly, and before Ratchet knew it, he was standing on a podium, handing Pharma a datapad containing his certification as a licensed medical doctor, top of his class.

Ratchet had been so pleased when he watched Pharma graduate—and so shocked and, yes, hurt when Pharma took a job halfway across the planet instead of accepting the position Ratchet had offered him, working at the Deltaran Medical Facility. Working with _Ratchet_. Ratchet had been proud, though, that Pharma had wanted to earn a position by himself instead of taking one that Ratchet had secured on his behalf. 

He was going to miss the kid.

A year later, an invitation appeared unexpectedly in Ratchet’s inbox. 

#

Ratchet hadn’t even been thinking of that awkward kiss when he read the invitation. Instead, a warm sense of pleasure spread out from his spark through his whole body. Pharma was coming back to Iacon for a conference, and after his work was done, he wanted to know if Ratchet would agree to meet him for fuel and conversation. 

He’d really missed Pharma during the past year. The new batch of medical students were…well, they were a good, solid bunch, but Pharma’s brilliant intuition was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and Ratchet didn’t see these new recruits ever crossing the line between students/colleagues and personal friends.

Pharma, on the other hand…

They were equals now, and Ratchet had fond memories of their late-night conversations. It would be all right now for him to call Pharma a friend. And it was perfectly acceptable for two friends to have a private evening of fuel and fellowship.

He wasted no time writing back to accept the invitation.

#

A week later, Ratchet found himself standing in front of one of Iacon’s most exclusive restaurants, housed on the ground floor of the city’s premiere hotel. He checked his messaging system, certain there had been some mistake, but sure enough, this was the address Pharma had put on his invitation. Feeling self-conscious, Ratchet approached the mech at the door, giving his name and saying he was there to meet a friend.

“Right this way,” the mech said smoothly.

Ratchet tried not to stare as he followed the mech through the hotel’s lobby, up a swift elevator and into the restaurant. He’d been in this building before, but the sheer grandeur never failed to take his breath away. It was beautiful…and yet, Ratchet knew all too well how many Cybertronians in Rodion struggled to find enough fuel to keep themselves functioning one more day. Wouldn’t all this wealth be better put to use helping the less fortunate, than showing off to the upper classes who had more shanix than they knew what to do with?

Well, Ratchet couldn’t do anything about that now. He spent enough of his professional time arguing with the Senate about the proper distribution of wealth. His opinion was only one among many, and he could not hope to change the world in a day. He had worked so hard. Surely he deserved one night to relax.

The mech ahead of him stopped and gestured to a private booth in the far corner, near a huge picture window overlooking the cityscape below. Ratchet took a look where the mech indicated and felt his mouth go dry.

Pharma stood up to greet him, and Pharma looked…Pharma looked very, _very_ attractive. Had Ratchet forgotten how good-looking the mech was, or had Pharma gotten some frame modifications? As Ratchet walked across the floor, he decided it was a little of both. Pharma’s wingtips had longer hooks, his new hip plating emphasized his lean waist, and he’d added some gold trim to his helm. He’d also polished himself with some kind of wax that wasn’t the shiny, flashy stuff the racers and gangsters favoured. It coaxed the eye along every curve in his frame and made his body appear to glow. Pharma was neither his student nor his junior staffer, so Ratchet didn’t feel so badly about appreciating the view.

Ratchet felt more than a little dazed as he walked across the floor, suddenly conscious of his own frame, which was clean and polished but nothing fancy, nothing special. He felt out of place in this sumptuous location, in the company of the elegant and accomplished Pharma. 

But Pharma smiled broadly. “Ratchet,” he said, taking Ratchet’s hands in his own. Ratchet barely suppressed an instinctive shudder at that touch. At the feeling of Pharma’s fingertips playing over his sensitive hands. “I’m so glad you made it.”

And suddenly, Ratchet was very, very glad he had made it, too.

#

The fuel was delicious. Across the restaurant, a band played, their music surprisingly soft for a live performance. Ratchet and Pharma talked easily, with the band’s songs a quiet background, enhancing the ambiance of the restaurant. Their booth was cozy and private, and with the window beside them it was easy for Ratchet to imagine that he and Pharma were the only people here. They refueled, talking and laughing, sharing stories from the past year of practice and discussing new advances in their professional field.

Ratchet was genuinely sorry when he saw Pharma finish the last of his fuel. “Dessert?” Ratchet asked hopefully. He didn’t want the evening to end. He’d forgotten just how much he’d enjoyed Pharma’s company. He was not looking forward to remembering how much he had missed Pharma when he’d left. 

Pharma made a noncommittal sound.

Ratchet glanced at the bar. Pharma wasn’t a student any more. It would be acceptable for them to drink together. Ratchet had mostly given up his days of drunken revelry, but with Pharma…Ratchet would happily accept anything from elegantly sipping a rare blend here in the lounge, to getting thoroughly fendered and dancing like a fool in the club down the street. The company had already made his night.

“Engex?” Ratchet asked, feeling strangely nervous. “Bar?”

“Better idea,” Pharma said smoothly. “I’ve got a bottle of Macaalex Reserve in my suite. Quadruple filtered. _Very_ nice.”

“Very expensive,” Ratchet muttered. This restaurant didn’t even carry that brand, and the place was far from cheap.

“It’s a special occasion,” Pharma replied, unfazed.

Ratchet was thoroughly enjoying Pharma’s company. The strength of the sensation was almost bewildering in its intensity. It gave him a warm feeling to think that Pharma might be having as much fun as he was. 

“So it is,” Ratchet said. “Let’s go.”

Pharma flagged down the attendant and paid the bill. He refused to let Ratchet contribute anything, insisting that his invitation meant his treat. They rose from the table, and Ratchet paused, wondering where to go.

“My suite’s just upstairs,” Pharma said, taking Ratchet’s arm and leading him out through the doors.

Upstairs? Pharma had gotten a room in _this_ hotel? _Above_ the restaurant? “That can’t be cheap,” Ratchet said, startled. 

“Nothing here is _cheap_ , Ratchet, but surely a special occasion deserves a little indulgence?”

Special occasion? Ratchet couldn’t think of what that might be. Pharma’s graduation was long over, but…

“A year,” Ratchet said. “A year exactly since your graduation from medical school?”

Pharma grinned. “You _do_ remember.” He pressed the button for the elevator.

“I remember we didn’t do anything _this_ fancy for your actual graduation.” It had been nice, of course…a classy restaurant, a pretty ballroom, a talented band…but _this_ was the top-rated restaurant in Iacon, the sort of place where Senators refueled, and the hotel was typically rented out by Cybertron’s most illustrious citizens. Ratchet, as Chief Medical Officer, was distinguished but not exactly the sort of stylish celebrity who frequented this establishment. How had Pharma even gotten a room here?

“Well, you were paying for a whole class of graduating students,” Pharma said as he stepped into the arriving elevator. “Tonight is a _private_ party.”

“I have no idea how you’re affording all this,” Ratchet grumbled, feeling a little guilty. This sort of extravagance was lovely, and flattering, but he felt as though he shouldn’t be expecting his own student to cover the costs of his entertainment.

“I was working in Vos this past year,” Pharma purred. “They pay very well there.”

Many mechanisms in Vos had more shanix than they could spend, but Ratchet didn’t say that out loud. He had no doubt that Pharma had earned his wages. And…Vos might pay well, but the cost of living there was also high. Ratchet was certain that Pharma had needed to save to afford this fancy evening.

And, that being the case, Ratchet ought to shut up and enjoy it. He hadn’t told Pharma that he expected to be entertained in style. Pharma had chosen to do this, and Pharma was all grown up now. Ratchet had to respect Pharma’s decisions, just as he would respect the choices made by any of his peers.

A lump formed in his throat. It was true. Pharma was a fully established physician in his own right, and not Ratchet’s protégé any more. Ratchet was a sentimental fool, to feel this choking sensation of loss, and he forced himself to concentrate on how proud he was of his former student’s accomplishments. Together, he and Pharma had sidestepped those pitfalls that had led to the downfall of so many precocious medical students. And now, thanks in part to Ratchet’s guidance, Pharma was well on his way to becoming the greatest physician that Cybertron had ever seen.

The elevator came to a halt. Ratchet followed Pharma down a hallway with lush carpeting and ornate fixtures, realizing as he did so that Pharma was still holding his arm.

Did that…mean anything?

No. It couldn’t.

Ratchet pushed such foolish notions from his mind as Pharma waved his wrist to give an identity code to the sensor on the door in front of him. It slid open, revealing a magnificently appointed private suite with a truly stunning view of the city. Ratchet couldn’t help it. He stared. 

But he noticed when Pharma released him and slipped away to retrieve the engex from a bottle chilling in a cooler on the sideboard. 

And when Pharma opened the bottle and poured two servings, Ratchet found the sight of his colleague more beautiful than the skyline.

Pharma turned and smiled to see Ratchet watching him. He crossed the room with the graceful steps of a wind dancer and offered Ratchet one of the two drinks. Ratchet accepted it without looking, his gaze fixed on Pharma.

“I’d like to make a toast,” Pharma said, raising his own goblet.

Ratchet smiled, only half paying attention. Toasts were all the same—it was going to be something about success or healing or his new position—and Ratchet would really rather concentrate on the light in Pharma’s optics. They seemed to be positively glowing.

“To promises kept,” Pharma murmured, leaning close to clink his glass against Ratchet’s.

“To promises kept,” Ratchet repeated automatically. It was only when he felt the engex start its slow burn down his throat that he realized what an odd toast that had been. Odder yet, Pharma had not moved away. As Ratchet lowered his glass, Pharma tilted his head. 

The next thing Ratchet knew, Pharma was kissing him.

Ratchet felt stunned. His lips moved of their own volition, gently pressing against Pharma’s, exploring his fellow doctor’s mouth. Pharma’s lips had a heady flavour; his eloquent tongue brushed over Ratchet’s gently, and his mouth tasted of refined high grade and rare luxury. Ratchet felt a lithe waist in the crook of his free arm and realized after the fact that he’d pulled Pharma to him, deepening the kiss. Pharma’s engine thrummed a song of appreciation.

 _Primus_. Ratchet should not be doing this. Pharma was…was…

_To promises kept._

_When I graduate, and have my own practice, I want you to promise me you’ll go out with me. As equals._

Pharma was not his student. Not his subordinate. Not the least bit unwilling.

Ratchet could not come up with a single reason _why_ he should not be doing this, other than force of habit. He’d been resisting so long. Trying not to look at those graceful legs, those lovely wings. Trying not to let comradely embraces turn lingering or longing. Trying to repress the emotions that raged through his mind ever since Pharma had sent him the invitation.

_What do you want, Ratchet?_

In the deepest part of his spark, Ratchet knew what he wanted.

Ratchet kissed Pharma back. Ardently. Passionately. Conveying all the admiration and wonder and appreciation and, yes, desire he’d buried for all those years because it wasn’t appropriate. Wasn’t allowed. Wasn’t right.

But Pharma was his own mech now and now the time was right.

Pharma pulled away, looking up at Ratchet as though hoping to gauge his response. A small smile played on the winged medic’s lips.

Ratchet panted for air, struggling to make sense of a long-buried desire that had just been resurrected to full roaring life. Pharma’s optics twinkled; sparks to an oil reservoir. Ratchet set down his glass. He’d need both hands for what came next.

Pharma’s smile broadened. His glass joined Ratchet’s.

Some small corner of Ratchet’s mind still urged him to resist. But…the situation had changed. It wasn’t wrong now, for him and Pharma to be intimate together. It only felt wrong because Ratchet was so used to thinking of it as wrong, because it had been in the past, under circumstances that no longer applied.

 _Too fast_.

It was sudden, that was true. Perhaps Ratchet’s reluctance was a desire to take the time to process these new developments and parse their possible ramifications. To understand what consequences might result from the choices he made here today. How would Pharma’s interest and availability fit into Ratchet’s desire to find a _conjunx endura_? How would it affect Ratchet’s role at the Deltaran Medical Facility? How would it affect his underground clinic in Rodion? Would it change the way the other physicians regarded him, and if so, for better or for worse?

That would be the wiser course of action, certainly, and yet Ratchet felt a sort of disgust. What was he doing, wanting to make Pharma wait so that he could spend yet more time thinking? Rationalizing. Just the way he’d spent the last few years thinking and rationalizing and explaining away his attraction to his student. The way he’d built walls so thick he felt guilty now, even though there was no longer any reason to.

No, this was down to a simple judgment call, _go or no go_ , and there were no ethical reasons not to.

Ratchet looked at the berth, at Pharma, at Pharma’s hand, extended towards him, and asked himself one simple question: _do you want to do this or don’t you?_

Ratchet knew the answer.

He put his hand in Pharma’s, and let the jet lead him to the berth.


	2. Don't Say A Word About Tomorrow

Chapter Two: Don’t Say A Word About Tomorrow

A thought worked its way into the forefront of Ratchet’s mind, and at a very inconvenient time. 

Ratchet sat on a very fancy double-wide berth in a suite in Iacon’s most exclusive hotel (not the penthouse suite, but this room was pretty extravagant just as it was), his fuel tank full of exquisite high-grade fuel and the slightest taste of Macaalex Quadruple Platinum engex. Just a tiny sip, really. Most of the drink sat abandoned on the table on the other side of the room.

Ratchet could not blame being overenergized for the situation in which he now found himself.

Ratchet had a lapful of Pharma—beautiful flyer Pharma, brilliant medic Pharma, Ratchet’s former student Pharma—cozied right up to him, plating warm, engine running hot, cooling fans operating and delicate ailerons flicking with appreciation as Ratchet ran his hands over the leading edges of those pretty, pretty wings. Pharma’s tongue slid over Ratchet’s lower lip, and Ratchet couldn’t help himself. He opened his mouth for a taste.

Their tongues touched. Their upper lips meshed together and _dear Primus, this was not a good time for Ratchet to be thinking about anything other than what it felt like to hold Pharma in his lap and finally bring all his illicit fantasies to stunning life._

But Ratchet had built the foundation of his self-identity on doing the right thing. Even in the midst of this spectacular occasion, Ratchet could not do otherwise.

Ratchet reluctantly ended the kiss, lifting his lips to the side of Pharma’s helmet. “Do you have someone?” Ratchet murmured in Pharma’s audio. “Someone who wouldn’t want to see you like this with me?”

“Always doing the right thing,” Pharma chuckled, nibbling on Ratchet’s helm. “No.” The flyer pulled away to look Ratchet in the optics. “I’m single.” His breath was warm on Ratchet’s cheek as he whispered, “Free to do whatever you please.”

Ratchet groaned: partly with relief, partly at the inflammatory words that stoked his passions hotter, and partly because Pharma was pressing his hips to Ratchet’s in a way that felt nice, but not nearly nice enough. Ratchet could feel heat radiating right through his panels. “Hard to believe,” Ratchet panted as his hands slid from Pharma’s wings to the engine on his back. “I heard…heard you were stepping out with a lot of mechs, both before and after graduation.”

“Jealous?” Pharma grinned and whispered in Ratchet’s audio, “I heard you stepped out with more than your share of mechs before and after _your_ graduation.” His breath felt hot and wicked; it sent a shiver down Ratchet’s spinal strut. “And I was _very_ jealous.”

The allegation was true. Ratchet had slept around a lot in his younger days, partly from a sense of curiosity—the desire to experience all the different sensations that a variety of lovers could offer—and partly from a sense of generosity. He liked interface, and he liked making people happy, and he liked helping people, so if a mech was the slightest bit agreeable, why should he say no? Why not give it a try?

In recent years, though, Ratchet had grown tired of having a new mech in his berth every weekend. Encounters that had been exciting and filled with novelty when he’d been young had faded into a blur, every new lover so much the same as the last, until he could no longer remember their names or their faces. Trysts felt old and tired and stale, and Ratchet felt that he was wasting his time picking up flings in bars and clubs when he had so much more valuable work to do at the Deltaran Medical Facility. Teaching. Researching. Saving lives. 

No, he’d reached a point in his life where he’d been ready to settle down with a regular companion: a _conjunx endura_ if he were lucky, but he could settle for a friend with benefits. Someone who’d be good company as well as a good lay; someone he could talk to, relax with, take care of and be taken care of in return. Someone who would provide a sense of stability and continuity in his life.

For a while, he thought he might’ve found someone. Then the Decepticons had made an unexpected strike in that sector and Ratchet had found himself attending a funeral rather than a bonding ceremony. 

That was it. No more courting soldiers.

Unfortunately, courting fellow medical personnel had problems of its own. Ratchet had seen drama raging through the Deltaran Medical Facility when relationships broke apart, and of course there were always catty allegations that someone had gotten a promotion or a research grant because of his skills in the berth rather than his skills in the medbay. Ratchet had always held himself apart from that sort of nonsense. He was too professional for that. He was…better than that.

But he was not professional enough to keep his hands off the brightest rising star that Cybertronian medicine had ever seen. 

“What about you?” Pharma murmured, trailing his fingers down Ratchet’s spinal strut in a thoroughly indecent way that strummed every nerve in his body, sending tingling sensations into Ratchet’s chest, groin, and thighs. “Anyone who’d be jealous of me right now?”

“No,” Ratchet groaned. It was true, and he wanted Pharma’s mouth back on his body.

Pharma chuckled darkly. “You’re not telling me you’re seeing someone who’d _enjoy_ watching us like this, are you?”  
Ratchet’s response was a strangled moan. It was a filthy idea, and Ratchet wanted to scold Pharma for even thinking about it. Except…it was also perversely arousing to imagine someone watching them right now, maybe using binoculars to look through the suite’s big picture window. Someone observing as Pharma ground his hips against Ratchet’s in a parody of the interface that was probably forthcoming. Pharma’s posture was better suited to some sort of erotic dancer—Primus knew he had the frame for it, what with that delicate waist and those gorgeous wings—and Ratchet, oh, Ratchet’s pretense at maturity and professionalism was right out the window with one touch of Pharma’s tongue. Imagine someone _watching_ , envious of Ratchet as he fondled Pharma’s sleek body, wishing he could have even a taste of what Pharma was so shamelessly offering.

“No,” Ratchet confessed, his voice a low rasp. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.” 

Pharma purred contentedly. “Good. Because if you _were_ , he’d be up against _me_.”

A mentor would tell his student that offering to fight for someone else’s affections wasn’t the proper way to go about establishing a relationship. Love was not a prize to be won by defeating a rival suitor. But Ratchet was no longer Pharma’s mentor, Pharma was no longer Ratchet’s student, and Ratchet had to admit there was something darkly exciting at the idea that Pharma wanted him badly enough to fight for him. 

Pharma had no rival. There would be no contest. The very idea of a battle for Ratchet’s affections was nothing more than a fantasy, and since it was purely imaginary, why not enjoy it? Ratchet shivered with a sense of intoxicating arousal.

“There’s no one who can keep up with you,” Ratchet said, his voice a low growl in Pharma’s audio.

This time it was Pharma quivering with delight. The tremor made his whole body wriggle, right down to where his hot little panel rubbed up against Ratchet’s. The added motion…well. Ratchet realized too late his panels had popped open in response to the extra stimulation.

It was embarrassing for a mech of his age and experience not to have more self-control, or at least be able to warn Pharma that he was going to pop his panels. Ratchet muttered an apology and looked away. But the sensation of a hand on his spike—a hand not his own—brought his head snapping back to Pharma’s face so fast that he felt the shock in his neck all the way down to his collar assembly.

Pharma was leaning back, cupping his spike in both hands, revving his engine with excitement. “ _Lovely_ ,” Pharma said, stroking the head with one palm while gripping it loosely in the other. “Do you have any idea, Ratchet, how long I’ve wanted to play with this?”

Ratchet whimpered.

Pharma had no _shame_. Ratchet had known that the ever-gentlemanly-in-public Pharma had a delightfully dry sense of humour when only other doctors were listening, but Ratchet had never guessed that Pharma could say such explicit things without a trace of shyness or embarrassment. 

Ratchet dimmed his optics, gritted his teeth, and forced the words out between numb lips. “Pharma, you’ve got to understand I’m not much for one-night stands these days.”

“Oh, me _either_ ,” the jet purred, “but since we’re this far already, why don’t we see how we get on together.” He nibbled on Ratchet’s helm, then licked the spot with long, slow sweeps of his tongue. Ratchet was very conscious of Pharma’s fingers burning like brands on his spike. “We can talk long term arrangements in the morning.”

Ratchet was about to protest that he couldn’t possibly stay the night when Pharma ducked his head, slid off Ratchet’s lap and onto his knees in one smooth motion and swept his tongue over Ratchet’s _spike_. In that moment Ratchet realized that yes, he _was_ going to stay the night, and it was far past time for him to give up any pretense that he wasn’t about to frag Pharma and enjoy every damned second of it.

Ratchet surrendered, and the intoxicating emotions overwhelmed him. Arousal. Admiration. Desire. Lust. Pleasure. He gave in and spread his legs to maximize Pharma’s access to his spike, gasping as the sensations changed and intensified by the new position. Briefly he thought about what he must look like, lying sideways on a berth, his thighs sprawled open like some kind of cheap pleasurebot. _This is Iacon’s Chief Medical Officer, reduced to a mewling, begging wreck_.

And that was Pharma, _his Pharma_ , sampling Ratchet’s spike. Pharma licked his lips, savouring the flavour, while Ratchet whimpered. “Mmmm,” Pharma purred. “Delicious.” The hot, moist trail left by Pharma’s tongue became chill, and Ratchet wanted Pharma’s mouth back where it had been previously.

“Pharma,” Ratchet panted. Any lingering shame was swamped by wave after wave of arousal and desperation. “Pharma, _please_.”

“Please what?” Pharma chuckled. “You have to tell me what you want me to do. Isn’t that the rules?”

Ratchet dimmed his optics. “Don’t want…don’t want you to feel…obligated…”

“So _kind_.” Phama pressed a kiss to the tip of Ratchet’s spike that made him shout out an inarticulate cry instead of the plea for mercy he’d intended. 

“Pharma,” Ratchet sobbed.

“Oh, _Ratchet_. I can always say no, you know. But I can’t say yes until you tell me what’s on your mind.” Pharma ran a teasing finger along the inner seams of Ratchet’s thighs.

“Please.” Ratchet dimmed his optics. Perhaps it would be easier if he pretended for just a moment that this was nothing but a fantasy. “Please, I don’t care if your idea of _play_ is your hands or your…your tongue or your…oh…”

“Or?” Pharma had to be bending close. Ratchet swore he felt the other doctor’s lips brush against his spike as Pharma asked the question. 

“Lick me,” Ratchet said, feeling his face plates heat with shame. _“Please_.”

He’d popped both his panels, after all. And although he really did like how Pharma’s mouth felt on his spike, the truth was that there was another thing that just might feel even better. 

Pharma quirked an optic ridge. He ran his tongue up Ratchet’s spike, base to tip.

Ratchet moaned loudly, rapidly losing his own sense of shame.

Pharma drew back. Ratchet guessed it was to repeat the action, except it seemed as though a long time passed, and still no soft, wet tongue. Ratchet fidgeted, his spike and valve on display, his body uncomfortably aroused. Finally, Pharma spoke. “Oh my.” His breath was hot between Ratchet’s legs. “ _Both_ panels.”

Ratchet’s face flared with heat.

“Lick you,” Pharma mused. “Lick you…where?”

“I don’t care,” Ratchet confessed. “Spike, valve, take your pick.”

“You like both of those?”

“Y…” Ratchet couldn’t finish the word. Pharma pressed a kiss right next to his valve and his throat closed in a moan.

“Mmmm. I’d like to show you a nice time, Ratchet.”

Ratchet trembled. Pharma was his former student, still the junior of the two. Ratchet was the one about to get serviced. And yet Pharma was the one in total control.

“Please.” 

“I want you,” Pharma said, “to tell me how.”

Wasn’t _lick me_ enough? Ratchet felt on the verge of sobbing. He felt ashamed to be lying on this berth in this compromising position, and yet somehow there was also something exciting about it. There was no way he could be accused of pressuring or coercing his student. Pharma had him, apparently right where he wanted him, and it was entirely up to Pharma what happened next.

“Are you shy?” Pharma murmured, and _Matrix preserve him_ , Ratchet felt Pharma’s lips moving against the rim of his valve. “That’s all right. I’ll take charge of this. That’s what you taught me to do, right? How to step up and take charge.” Pharma smiled saucily. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Pharma pillowed his cheek on Ratchet’s left thigh and let his fingers trace patterns on Ratchet’s right thigh. “You’re going to tell me what you’d like us to do here tonight, and I’m going to listen. I’m going to listen very, very well. And if I like what I hear….” Pharma held up his hand, waited until Ratchet was looking, and licked his finger, leaving a generous smear of lubricant across the pad. Then he placed the tip of his finger…

 _Oh_.

Ratchet keened. The tip was somewhere very, very good, so moist and so tantalizing. Yes, Ratchet wanted more of that.

“If I don’t like what I hear, though, I might let my attention wander.” Pharma’s tongue trailed down Ratchet’s thigh, heading for his knee. “And if you don’t talk at all, I suppose I’ll have to think you’ve fallen asleep, and I might do the same.”

No. No, Ratchet didn’t want Pharma to go to sleep. It was probably an empty threat but… Ratchet’s fans shrilled, blasting off heat from his interior. 

“So what do you say, Ratchet? Shall we…talk?” Pharma lifted his head and grinned.

Where had Pharma learned this stuff? This game was incredibly intense for a first encounter. And yet…and yet…Ratchet knew for a fact that he had never been this turned on in his entire life.

“ _Please_ ,” Ratchet said.

“Let’s begin, then,” Pharma purred, and delicately placed his tongue on the rim of Ratchet’s valve.

Ratchet moaned. His breath rasped in and out of his intakes.

“Oh dear,” Pharma murmured. “I don’t hear you.” He kissed Ratchet’s right thigh. Again, and lower. Again, this time lower still.

Ratchet keened. 

He couldn’t be ashamed. He had to articulate what was in his thoughts if he wanted Pharma’s lips back where they had been. “I want to…”

“Yes?” Pharma inquired. He kissed Ratchet’s thigh once more, but higher this time, his clever mouth headed in the direction Ratchet wanted.

“I want to worship you,” Ratchet confessed.

Pharma’s engine trilled. His tongue licked a delicate and precise line down the centre of Ratchet’s valve.

“I want to rub your wings…stroke your back…mouth kisses on your cockpit,” Ratchet breathed. 

Pharma ran his tongue around the left side of Ratchet’s valve, then the right.

Oh, so this was how the game worked. Ratchet groaned. He could keep enjoying the pleasure as long as he talked. His mind was coming up with all sorts of scenarios that he and Pharma could do to each other, and the sense of tact that kept him from ever vocalizing those fantasies was swept away by each brush of Pharma’s tongue over his valve.

“I want to worship you with my mouth and my hands. Taste you…just like you’re doing now.”

Pharma’s soft tongue dipped into Ratchet’s valve, pressing gently on a node hidden inside.

With Pharma licking him out, Ratchet let go of his inhibitions. It felt so good, and he loved it. He wanted to make Pharma feel the same way. Why should he hold back?

“I want to take your spike in my mouth. Suck it until it’s hard and firm.”

Pharma did something with his tongue. All of a sudden the soft sweeping motions became hard, pointed, as Pharma jabbed his tongue at that tender node inside Ratchet’s valve. The stimulation went from teasing to hard and intense. Ratchet’s optics flared with light. His body convulsed, writhing and twisting, as the sensation danced back and forth over the thin line between discomfort and pleasure. Ratchet could only guess that Pharma must like that idea. This powerful response was Ratchet’s reward.

“I want to slide my fingers into your valve.”

A pause. Then Pharma’s mouth nibbling the side of Ratchet’s thigh.

Ratchet gasped. Pharma must not be as into that. Ratchet wasn’t sure if it was fingering specifically or valve play generally that had turned him off, but Ratchet didn’t care, as long as he could think of something that would get Pharma’s mouth back where he wanted it. “What if…what if it was your fingers in my valve?”

Oh, thank Primus. Pharma’s tongue slid back into Ratchet’s valve. Ratchet moaned in appreciation, spreading his legs so wide they hurt. 

Pharma licked and sucked, heedless of the loud, wet sounds his mouth made. Ratchet was embarrassed by how noisy Pharma was as he feasted on Ratchet’s valve; but Ratchet would never, ever tell him to be quiet. His traitorous body was horribly aroused by the whole situation. Ratchet could feel trickles of lubricant slipping down the inside of his valve.

“And then…” Ratchet closed his eyes, swallowing down static. “And then…you’d take your fingers out…and replace them…” Oh, Matrix help him, _he wanted this_. “Replace them with your spike.”

Pharma’s engine growled loudly. His tongue delved deep, hitting more nodes. Ratchet swore he could feel his calipers fluttering in a futile attempt to grasp Pharma’s tongue—but it was nowhere near as large or as firm as a spike, or even a finger. They could get no purchase. Ratchet arched his back, but Pharma slipped away.

Slipped away and started to kiss his way back down Ratchet’s thigh again.

_Think of something to say. Quickly._

Ratchet felt his faceplates heating. “I like…”

Primus, he couldn’t say this.

“I didn’t hear you?” Pharma inquired. “You like…?”

“I like when…I like to take a spike after getting…after the licking…”

“Ohhh.” Pharma swirled his tongue over Ratchet’s anterior node, causing the chief medical officer to sob in relief. “So, what you’re telling me is, if I pay a little more attention to that greedy little valve of yours, you might enjoy it if I slip my fingers inside _right now_?” 

Ratchet nodded, his face radiating heat.

“And the whole purpose of that is to get you ready for a good hard fragging?”

Ratchet choked. Pharma’s smooth voice saying something that dirty with such _intent…_ “Yes,” Ratchet admitted.

Pharma grinned. “Well then. You’d best be lucky your valve is so _delicious_.”

Ratchet groaned. Pharma dipped his head. And suddenly, Ratchet realized that Pharma’s lips were wrapped around the tip of his spike instead.

“Pharma,” Ratchet groaned. “Pharma, what are you…”

It was a silly question, particularly for a doctor who knew the exact scientific terminology for what Pharma was doing. It was just so _unexpected_ …and so _good_. Ratchet groaned, utterly at Pharma’s mercy as the beautiful jet suckled on his spike. 

It crossed Ratchet’s mind that if Pharma kept this up, Ratchet’s spike would be useless for some time, until he was able to rest up enough for another go. He ought to warn his partner. “Pharma,” he panted, “if you…do you want to…”

“Ssssh,” Pharma murmured, mouthing Ratchet’s spike. “Ssssh, and enjoy.”

Pharma started suckling again. Ratchet groaned. Pharma was a medic; he’d know what would happen. Right? Regardless, Pharma’s command to _enjoy_ was something Ratchet could not disobey.

Not when this felt so incredible.

Ratchet had already set a standard of surrender. He’d accepted Pharma’s invitations, first to dinner, then to drinks, then to bed. He’d let Pharma take him to the berth, then take the lead, then drive him to incoherency with pleasure. Letting Pharma have his way was its own reward. He would be mad to protest the delight he was receiving right now from Pharma’s sensuous mouth.

Sensuous, but not precisely _generous_. Something in Ratchet’s brain warned him that Pharma had some ulterior motive. Some reason underlying this spectacular gift…

Or maybe it was just that Pharma was _very good_ and Ratchet did not want to think about how often he’d practiced, or with whom.

Then a wave of sensation swamped Ratchet’s thoughts and washed all rationale away. 

Ratchet was not sure how long it took for Pharma to swallow his spike completely, but Ratchet was shocked when he realized that Pharma had taken his spike so deeply that Ratchet could feel the tip tickling the back of Pharma’s throat. It felt like no time and an eternity, both in one, but it was probably not that long before a number of factors—including Ratchet’s recent drought in the berth, the novelty of a new partner, Pharma’s skill, and the realization of notions Ratchet had previously relegated to the realm of fantasies that would never come true—all these things combined to drive Ratchet to a premature but no less intense climax. Ratchet gritted his teeth as he felt the summit approaching at a dizzying and relentless speed, and he was not certain if he was more afraid of coming so soon, or Pharma stopping before he was able to come at all.

“Pharma,” Ratchet panted. He really hated to tell Pharma to stop, or do anything that might put the brakes on this fabulous fantasy come to life, but having failed to warn his stude… _partner_ about popping his panels, he wasn’t about to make the same faux pas twice. “Pharma, if you don’t stop, I’m going to…”

“Mmm, you’re going to what?” Pharma asked, and he had the audacity to balance Ratchet’s spike head on his lower lip as he inquired.

“Gonna…gonna…nrgh!” Ratchet trembled with the effort of containing his overload. “Going to overload right down your throat,” he blurted.

Well, that was crude. Ratchet felt humiliated to use such gutter language here, in this fancy hotel, with the beautiful and elegant Pharma.

“Excellent,” Pharma said, smiling broadly, and then he swallowed up Ratchet’s spike and sucked hard.

Ratchet’s optics flared with alarm, but then the full force of the sensation slammed into his brain module and knocked his higher reasoning abilities offline. His spike head was indecently deep in Pharma’s throat and the other medic was doing something with his cheeks that produced a rippling effect much like that of the calipers in a valve. Pharma’s optics were hooded, and the other medic looked inordinately pleased with himself. The sensations were incredible, but it was that smug expression of Pharma getting exactly what he wanted that pushed Ratchet over the brink.

Ratchet didn’t have a chance.

As he overloaded, he thought that he really ought not to make a habit of filling students’ fuel tanks with his transfluid, and _that_ idea was so perverse—as if he’d do this with any student who _wasn’t_ Pharma, and _damn it Pharma was not his student any more_ —he shuddered with shame that nevertheless revved his engines hard. 

And then, all of a sudden, Pharma’s mouth was gone and Ratchet was spilling his transfluid all over the floor, while Pharma’s hand milked the Chief Medical Officer’s spike through a second, smaller overload. 

#

Ratchet wanted to curl in a ball and hide, even while Pharma made a show of licking his lips. Overload achieved, Ratchet felt humiliated that he’d conducted himself with all the abandon of an overcharged youngster. 

Ratchet looked at the mess on the floor and felt his faceplates heat. It was mostly Pharma’s fault for not bothering to wrap his spike in bedding or something if Pharma didn’t want transfluid in his mouth, but Ratchet still felt embarrassed for making a puddle on the ground, particularly in a nice room like this. Pharma, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit sorry. “You’re too fast for your own good, kid,” Ratchet rumbled, just for something, anything, to say.

He hadn’t thought Pharma had heard him. The younger medic collapsed onto his side, half lying on top of Ratchet, laughing in unrestrained delight. At first, Ratchet was pleased to see Pharma so happy, but as the fit went on he began to wonder whether he was missing the joke. Pharma giggled until he had to wipe fog from his optics. “Sorry, not sorry,” he managed to say at last.

“Well, I hope you have enough patience to wait for me to reload before you try to ride my spike,” Ratchet grumbled.

“What, are you in a hurry?” Pharma extended his index finger and drew lazy swirls on Ratchet’s windshield. 

Maybe it wasn’t a joke. Ratchet glanced at Pharma. “I don’t stay where I’m not invited.”

“Should I gold-plate it? _Dear Ratchet, Pharma humbly requests the honour of your presence in his berth this evening? Refreshments served after dinner and in the morning?_ ”

“In the morning?” Ratchet grinned, nuzzling Pharma’s neck. “That sounds like you want me to stay the night.”

“I do want you to stay the night,” Pharma replied, shivering in pleasure as Ratchet’s nuzzle sent his sensors tingling. “There’s all kinds of things we’ve yet to try out.” His hands kneaded Ratchet’s inner thighs, and he inquired, “So, how did that feel?”

“It felt…it felt fragging fantastic and you know it.” Ratchet struggled to sit up; his joints were already stiffening. “But Pharma, it’s going to take me a while if you want me to….”

“A while?” Pharma’s finger dipped into Ratchet’s valve. Ratchet gasped. Pharma withdrew his finger and studied the juicy lubricant coating the tip. “I’d say you’re pretty much ready to go.”

“I meant if you wanted me to use my spike,” Ratchet said distractedly, his optics and attention fixated on Pharma as the other medic admired his finger from different angles, seeing the lubricant gleam in the light. Pharma licked his fingertip and winked. Ratchet’s jaw dropped open.

“I think I know plenty else to keep you busy, hm? How did you say you wanted this to happen? I think I start with my tongue…”

Pharma lowered his head, and Ratchet realized that Pharma had every intention of acting out that fantasy he’d described earlier. Tongue…fingers…spike. Ratchet moaned with anticipation. His faceplates heated up again, but that didn’t stop him from spreading his legs wide.

And Pharma knew an invitation when he saw one. “Mmmm,” Pharma purred, kissing Ratchet’s valve. Ratchet threw back his head, groaning. His calipers fluttered to life, pulsing hungrily, eagerly anticipating something deliciously firm sliding between them, filling them up.

“You sure…” Ratchet’s breath burned in his throat. “Sure you’re into this?”

“Watching you overload?” Pharma lifted his head to speak. Ratchet’s ravenous valve twitched in complaint, already missing Pharma’s tongue, but as Pharma slathered his finger with lubricant from his tongue, Ratchet got the feeling his valve wouldn’t be achy much longer. His fans spun so hard they throbbed. “How could I not be?” Pharma whispered. 

Even as he spoke, Ratchet saw him lower his hand, and then Ratchet felt Pharma’s warm, firm, lubricant-covered finger gently sliding between the lips of his valve. Ratchet shivered with anticipation. Pharma pressed gently. Ratchet’s valve admitted his finger so readily that for a moment, Ratchet saw the shock on Pharma’s face. Ratchet chuckled until Pharma hooked his finger and reduced his laughter to a moan of pleasure and need.

“Like that, don’t you?” Pharma asked. He lowered his head and played his tongue over Ratchet’s anterior node. Ratchet whimpered, helpless under the dual onslaught. Pharma’s tongue was _everywhere_ , and somehow the other doctor managed to lick a second digit, because the next thing Ratchet knew, there were two fingers in his valve, scissoring it wide open.

“Primus,” Ratchet hissed as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm his systems. “Where did you learn that?”

“A gentlemech never kisses and tells,” Pharma chided. 

Ratchet supposed he didn’t want to know the exact name of the person who taught Pharma that trick. Nor did he actually care as long as Pharma was using it on _him_. Ratchet’s ceiling node throbbed, starved for attention, and the sensation of feeling his valve held open made him realize just how empty it was. Pharma held his fingers perfectly still, and Ratchet’s nodes, deprived of sensation, pulsed desperately.

“Pharma,” Ratchet whispered. “Pharma, please.”

“Mmm. Please what?”

Ratchet gritted his teeth. “Didn’t I…didn’t I already tell you…” Lubricant slid out of his valve, doubtlessly all over Pharma’s hand. His body was so very ready to take a spike. “What comes next.”

Pharma leaned forward, resting his weight on his left arm. “I think I heard you say you like to swallow spikes in that hungry little valve. Is that right?”

Ratchet nodded. Somehow he still found enough shame to heat his faceplates.

“Just anyone’s?”

“Yours.”

“Are you sure?” Pharma teased. The sight of his sly little grin made Ratchet’s whole frame feel weak with want.

“I want your spike, Pharma.” Ratchet’s optics flared. “Please.”

Pharma slid his knees between Ratchet’s thighs. Ratchet realized, belatedly, that Pharma’s panel was already open, his spike firmly at attention. Ratchet wondered when, exactly, Pharma had popped his panel, and whether it had been deliberate or accidental. Ratchet figured Pharma would’ve made a show of opening it if he’d done it consciously, and it made Ratchet grin. Pharma’s left hand shivered, and Ratchet realized that Pharma was not as in control as he pretended to be. Ratchet revved his engine, excited at the thought.

Ratchet didn’t get much of an opportunity to admire Pharma’s spike. He caught a quick glimpse of raised ridges illuminated by brilliant biolights. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say that Pharma had gotten some modifications done.

Ratchet’s mouth went dry. That sort of thing wasn’t his specialty, but he’d had a little work done himself. It was incredible how a few minor additions could augment a lover’s pleasure. In his younger days, Ratchet had blown the minds of more than a few soldier types who’d never guessed that the pretty whorls on Ratchet’s spike would line up with their interior nodes and drive them wild with ecstasy. Ratchet’s mods corresponded perfectly with the “standard Cybertronian” as referenced in medical literature, so the location of the raised areas was as close to one size fits all as Ratchet could get. It didn’t exactly fit everyone, but it was usually close enough unless a mech deviated significantly from the norm. Ratchet did not. And neither had many of Ratchet’s lovers, who appreciated very much what Ratchet had done to his spike.

He wondered if Pharma had done the same; then, as he felt Pharma’s spike nudge the side of his valve, he realized that he was about to find out firsthand.

Pharma thrust home, his spike sinking halfway into Ratchet’s valve on the first push. Ratchet gasped as his empty valve was suddenly split by thick, hard spike. Instinctively, he reached for support, wrapping his arms around Pharma’s shoulder blades. Pharma groaned, bracing his arms against the berth, and thrust again.

This time, they cried out together as Pharma’s spike sheathed itself deeply in Ratchet’s valve.

Pharma held still a moment. Ratchet fluttered his calipers, appreciating the length and girth of the glorious spike. Then, a sly smile on his face, Ratchet began to pulse his calipers in an inviting rhythm. It was a trick guaranteed to drive his lovers wild.

Pharma looked down at Ratchet with a wicked grin. His expression said that he knew what Ratchet was doing and he could do it better.

Ratchet raised an optic ridge, because he would like to see Pharma _try_.

And Pharma did.

Ratchet was unprepared for the sudden growing awareness of a certain node partway up his valve on the left side. It felt as though something were stroking it, buzzing against it, warming that one node in particular while neglecting those above and below. Ratchet shifted his hips, hoping to press against the delightful sensation, when it switched to the upper right of his valve and tormented a different node. Ratchet arched his back, keening shamelessly, chasing this pleasure while Pharma chuckled in delight.

Pharma thrust once, twice, and then Ratchet’s whole valve lit up with fireworks.

It felt…good. It felt far, far better than it had any right to, to an extent that Ratchet flared his optics and found himself clinging to Pharma in surprise. His whole nervous system was on fire. The situation was even more intense than Ratchet’s first time, and that was saying something. He was supposed to be mature and jaded now, a medical professional with an impressive collection of notches on his berth, not some recently-onlined innocent just discovering the wonders of interface. 

But it had never felt like this.

Pharma’s spike was stimulating every single one of Ratchet’s interior nodes, causing them to tingle and thrum. It was as though he were patched right into Ratchet’s nervous system, playing with his charge, causing Ratchet’s body to dance to the tune Pharma called. Ratchet’s nodes pulsed as one, causing static to flicker through his optics. Then they fired in sequence, base to ceiling, and Pharma’s spike thrust in perfect time with the impulses in the nodes. The whorls and ridges on Pharma’s spike fit Ratchet’s valve as though they’d been designed for it. It felt as though Pharma’s entire spike had been precision-engineered for the express purpose of fragging Ratchet until he blew a fuse.

A throbbing in the back of Ratchet’s head made him suspect he honestly _was_ about to blow a fuse, and he didn’t. Fragging. Care. He wanted Pharma to keep screwing him, just like this, hard, fast, deep, _please._ He was babbling as much, and Pharma was grinning and thrusting his hips and it felt so incredible and the pleasure was spiraling out of control and…

_“PHARMA!”_

_  
_


	3. Make Believe You Love Me

Chapter 3: Make Believe You Love Me

Ratchet woke up in the morning, feeling pleasantly tired. It was the sort of comfortable exhaustion that brought about a well-earned rest after a day of hard work. He smiled, ready to stretch the kinks from his limbs, until his sensory net registered the presence of a warm body stretched out beside him.

Oh dear. 

Ratchet didn’t let flings stay the night. It took some time for a berth-buddy to become a regular squeeze, and usually Ratchet didn’t even let his friends with benefits sleep over. Sleeping over was a courtship thing, in Ratchet’s mind. And Ratchet knew for a fact that he wasn’t courting anyone right now. 

He lifted his head, ready for vertigo, but much to his surprise his head wasn’t aching, and his mouth was moist. He ran a systems check automatically. He didn’t need to wait for its report to know that he hadn’t gotten fendered last night…though apparently he’d come very close to blowing a fuse. His face plates heated up when he realized he’d actually let himself get fragged into recharge. 

How had he ended up with an unplanned tryst? What had he been doing last night? Meeting up with Pharma. A nice dinner. An after-dinner drink.

_Ohhh._

Two after-dinner drinks sitting mostly untouched on a side table and Pharma curled up next to him in a big soft berth in a fancy hotel.

Ratchet lay back, looking at the ornately engraved ceiling, realizing that _he_ had been the one to spend the night in someone else’s berth.

At least he’d been invited. And at least he wasn’t waking up with a stranger. Ratchet rose up on his elbow and looked down at Pharma, apparently still recharging, a soft and wistful smile on his face. Ratchet had never seen Pharma looking so vulnerable. 

Ratchet wanted to feel guilty for indulging his inappropriate fantasies about his stu…his _former_ student. But as his self-diagnostic came back with reports about his well-fragged valve, and his mind sorted out fantasies from actual memories, Ratchet felt the urge to squirm in shame. 

At least there was no question about him taking advantage of Pharma. And it wasn’t possible for Pharma to have taken advantage of him, either. Not when he’d wanted it so much.

Pharma ran a lot hotter than Ratchet had bargained for. It was shocking, how strongly Pharma had come on to him. Ratchet had been revved up and knocked down and fragged senseless in no time, and he’d loved every second of the ride. But now…How was Ratchet going to face Pharma now?

Ratchet was still grappling with the embarrassment he felt about his wanton display last night, and the perverse lust that embarrassment seemed to be igniting in interface equipment that, despite last night’s workout, was already charging up for another round, when Pharma’s optics illuminated.

“Good morning,” Ratchet murmured.

Pharma’s lips curved in a drowsy smile. “Am I dreaming?” he murmured. “Because if I am, I’d rather not wake up.” He nuzzled close to Ratchet, his engine purring.

Ratchet felt almost taken aback. Last night’s Pharma had been aggressive and confident, sexual and shameless. This Pharma was sweet, affectionate, almost innocent. Ratchet stroked his helm tenderly and Pharma turned his cheek into the touch, sighing with contentment.

Ratchet nestled next to him, brushing a kiss over Pharma’s cheek. Pharma’s smile broadened. Ratchet folded his arms around the other medic and felt Pharma’s hand curl over his hip.

“You’re not dreaming,” Ratchet murmured. “But there’s no hurry for you to wake up.”

“Mmmm,” Pharma responded, gliding his hand up Ratchet’s side.

Words gave way to a silent communication of kisses and nose rubs, gentle scratches and soothing petting, gentle touches and shared warmth. Ratchet could hardly believe that last night’s spicy sex play could turn into this kind of sweet tenderness overnight. 

This…this was not the sort of thing Ratchet shared with his flings. This… He pressed kisses into Pharma’s neck. This was the sort of affection Ratchet reserved for those he was courting. This was the intimacy shared between mechanisms who cared for one another.

Could he honestly say he didn’t care about Pharma? Not a chance. He had cared for Pharma for a very, very long time.

It was strange how comfortable this situation felt. Why had Ratchet not realized that he and Pharma together like this was so very right?

Pharma’s optics flickered. His nose bunted against Ratchet’s. “I’m so glad you stayed,” the other medic murmured.

Ratchet had practically passed out after that last overload. He was too embarrassed to say so. “I’m glad you invited me,” he replied, and as he said the words, he realized that they were true.

Pharma’s faceplates heated. “I love you, you know,” he said, his voice strangely shy.

_By the Matrix_. Ratchet pulled him close. “I think I could very easily fall in love with you.”

“So why don’t you?” Pharma grinned. Incorrigible.

“First, because you were my student.”

“Not any more.”

“Second, because I wanted you to have a life of your own, not just follow me around in my shadow, chained to my side.”

“Done.”

“And now I’m out of good reasons.”

Pharma smiled, looking very pleased with himself. 

“Hungry?” Ratchet asked.

Pharma’s grin broadened. “Not for fuel.”

Ratchet’s fans roared in approval. He was feeling a little bit of an appetite himself. His hands wandered across Pharma’s frame, and Pharma’s engine purred in appreciation.

Soon Phama was stretched out on his back and Ratchet was doing most of the things he’d talked about the night before. Pressing open-mouthed kisses to Pharma’s cockpit. Rubbing the leading edges of those gorgeous wings. Worshiping Pharma’s body with mouth and hands. Pharma groaned, soaking up the adoration, writhing prettily and tangling the fancy covers into a knotted mess.

“By the Matrix, you’re beautiful,” Ratchet murmured as he kissed his way down Pharma’s belly.

Ratchet’s valve was still tender from last night’s activities. He supposed that was what lubricant was for, but perhaps it might be better for them to trade positions first. Ratchet tentatively kissed Pharma’s closed valve panel, remembering at the last moment how Pharma’s interest had wandered during last night’s game when Ratchet had mentioned playing with Pharma’s valve. And no sooner had Ratchet’s mouth brushed the panel than Pharma’s frame stiffened beneath him.

Ratchet knew a negative response when he saw one. He drew away and lay down beside Pharma instead. Ratchet waited to see if the jet wanted to stop, or if it was simply that one activity that he didn’t care for. Pharma nestled close of his own volition. Ratchet folded an arm over his hip, and Pharma’s engine trilled. 

“You really don’t like valve play, do you?” Ratchet murmured.

Pharma didn’t want to meet Ratchet’s optics. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on Ratchet’s chest.

Fair enough. Most mechs used both parts of their interface equipment, but some preferred one unit over the other. Ratchet had developed the current procedure on how to instruct a patient in proper maintenance and care for interface equipment that regularly went unused. As they said at the Deltaran Medical Facility, normal was a big place. Using one unit exclusively was no less healthy than using both equally, or any variation in between, so long as the equipment was properly maintained.

Ratchet did like to use his spike, but if he had to pick, his valve would win out, no question. Yes, he’d give up spike play in exchange for Pharma. Then he chided himself for this ridiculous presumption. One roll in the berth did not make a monogamous relationship. 

Still…if the possibility was raised…Ratchet took comfort that he knew what his answer would be.

“It’s all right,” Ratchet reassured him. “We don’t have to do that. I’m okay if we don’t. It’s okay if you don’t like it.”

Pharma bit his lip and looked up. Ratchet raised an optic ridge at this suggestion of nervousness. This Pharma was the opposite of last night’s mech.

“I think the honest answer would be _I don’t know if I like it_ ,” Pharma admitted. “Though…I was wondering if maybe…if maybe you could help me find out.”

Ratchet was silent for a moment, processing that statement, because Pharma could not possibly be implying what it sounded like he was implying. Ratchet looked into Pharma’s flickering optics and guilty frown and nervous lip-chewing and realized that yes, in fact, Pharma’s words meant exactly what they sounded like.

“You fragged…I don’t know how many mechs and _never used your valve_?” Ratchet demanded incredulously. “Not _ever_?”

Pharma sat up in the berth and crossed his arms. “You’re the one who said I should court mechanisms of my own rank and experience,” he snapped defensively. “I did exactly what you told me. But I…I didn’t trust some _amateur_ with…with _that_.”

Ratchet sat up as well, stunned. Part of him was horrified that Pharma had taken his suggestion as some sort of _order_. But another part of him was soothed to know that Pharma had tried courting his peers and still decided that he wanted to be with Ratchet. And overwhelming all of that was the fact that Pharma was still an innocent in some ways, and he seemed adamant that Ratchet be the one to initiate him.

“Valves are tender,” Pharma muttered. “I…well…well I…you know how _Introduction to Interface Health_ covers self-servicing?”

Ratchet nodded. He hadn’t taught that course, but he was familiar with its content.

“I tried touching… _that_.” Pharma immediately looked embarrassed; medical students were taught to use scientific terms, not euphemisms, and yet he’d been too shy to say the word. He spat it out hurriedly. “I mean my _valve_ , and…and it’s really sensitive.”

Ratchet raised an optic ridge.

“Yes, I got it checked out by a senior doctor. No, there’s nothing medically wrong. He just told me it was normal for it to feel like that and sent me on my way. And I…I didn’t _like_ it, Ratchet. It hurt. I don’t know if I was doing it wrong, if I was too rough and inexperienced to know how to make it feel good, or if I’m just not into it or what, but…but I didn’t want to touch it, and I didn’t trust anyone else to touch it. And then I thought…” Pharma dared a quick glance up at Ratchet. “Then I thought that maybe _you_ …”

Ratchet felt his face heat. Pharma’s faceplates were already blazing. Ratchet put his own awkwardness aside to give Pharma what he needed. He held out his arms, and the jet flung himself into Ratchet’s embrace.

Ratchet pulled him close, holding him, hoping to help him feel safe and secure. Pharma clung tightly with a ferocity that surprised Ratchet. His lovely frame trembled in Ratchet’s hold.

“I thought that maybe you would know how to touch it.” He buried his face in Ratchet’s neck. “I thought it might feel good,” Pharma whispered, “if _you_ did it.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Ratchet’s voice was gravelly.

Pharma vented in a deep breath and pulled back far enough to look Ratchet in the optics. “If it doesn’t, then at least I gave it the best possible try, and I’ll know for sure. You’ll…you’ll stop if I say it hurts, right?”

“Of course,” Ratchet assured him. “I’ll stop if you ask me to, period. You don’t have to justify the reason.”

“Okay.” Pharma nuzzled close.

Ratchet held the kid, trying to process the enormity of the request. All those years, through all those relationships, Pharma had left his valve unused. Had he been intending to hold Ratchet to his promise for a night out all that time? Ratchet wasn’t sure whether he should feel honoured, or worried, that Pharma had set that aspect of his sexuality aside, waiting for his chance to take Ratchet to his berth.

On the other hand, Ratchet hadn’t asked Pharma to put a reservation on his valve, and he certainly hadn’t expected Pharma to wait for him when he’d agreed to that promise. Nor would he have rejected Pharma last night if the younger medic had let all of Vos have a turn with his valve. Surely there was something to be said for a trust so deep that Pharma would put aside his fears for the mech he trusted, and that mech alone.

And, Ratchet realized as he rubbed Pharma’s back, at the roots of those pretty wings, that insecurity might have been the reason for Pharma’s outrageous behaviour the night before. No _wonder_ Pharma had pulled that trick with Ratchet’s spike, sucking it so thoroughly it was essentially disarmed. There was no need to fear valve play after that. And he’d hidden that fear under a veil of lecherousness and aggression.

“You could’ve just told me,” Ratchet said. “You didn’t need to disarm my spike so…so _thoroughly_.” 

Pharma shook his head in denial. “No way. I didn’t want to sound like a loser. Or an innocent. I was…I was already so afraid you’d turn me down.” Then he smirked. “And you loved how I disarmed your spike.”

Ratchet drew in a deep breath. He _had_ told Pharma to date his fellow students. Ratchet had thought he was encouraging the development of healthy, natural relationships between Pharma and his peers. But Pharma had apparently interpreted the advice as an order to go out and get some sexual experience. Then, all these years later, he’d brought his skills to Ratchet and showed his teacher what he’d learned.

But valve play had been a line Pharma had not been willing to cross.

And if Pharma had approached Ratchet last night and claimed innocence? What would have happened then?

Ratchet sighed. He wouldn’t have dared touch Pharma then. Pharma had been absolutely right about that.

“No fear of me turning you down,” Ratchet murmured. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful. I still can’t believe you want me. You…you could’ve had anyone. You know that, right? So talented. So beautiful. You could’ve had your pick.” His hands caressed the lip of Pharma’s jet intake. “And yes. Yes, I did love it.”

Pharma’s only response was a strangled groan. It seemed the kid really did like having the inner rim of his jet engine rubbed. Curiously, Ratchet tried tickling the engine’s fan blades, and Pharma gasped, tightening his grip on Ratchet’s shoulders.

How _interesting_.

“Spin them,” Pharma said, his voice strangled by need. “Spin my blades. _Please_.”

“Mmm.” Ratchet had all the power now. He stroked his finger over the little hub that held the blades. “Answer my question first.”

“What…what question?”

“I said you could’ve had anyone.” Ratchet gently outlined a fan blade with his fingertip, taking great care not to move it in the slightest.

“What’s that…I don’t…”

“Why me?” Ratchet asked. He flicked the fan blade, sending it gently spinning. Pharma melted in his arms.

“Oh, Primus,” Pharma gasped. “Because…because I want the best.”

“You don’t know I’m the best.”

“Empirical evidence…no, I don’t have that. I’d have to frag a very large sample to make any kind of judgement, wouldn’t I? But I believe, very strongly, that I’m not going to find better. And neither are you.”

Pharma walked a fine line between self-confidence and egotism. Ratchet was about to raise this point when he remembered two critical points: first, that Pharma was no longer a student, and second, that Pharma was probably right.

“Your _spike_ ,” Ratchet breathed. “How did you _do_ that?” He spun Pharma’s turbine blades again.

Pharma closed his optics and moaned. “Spike modification…stimulate the internal nodes…of your lover’s valve.”

“I have that. I’ve fragged mechs who had that. You’re something else again. _What did you do_?” It was starting to bug Ratchet that he couldn’t figure out how Pharma had done those things to him. He flicked Pharma’s blades unmercifully. 

“Custom…mods.”

That wasn’t an answer. “What kind of custom mods, specifically?”

Pharma’s grin broadened. “My mods are customized for _you_.”

Ratchet froze.

“Oh, _what_?” Pharma crossed his arms and sulked when he realized he wasn’t getting any more turbine play. “ _You’re_ the one who gave my entire first year medical class _your_ full blueprints as our “class sample” and told us you could use the data however we wanted.” He shot Ratchet a side-eyed glance. “So don’t look at me like I stole your private medical records when _you’re_ the one who gave them to me.”

Ratchet spluttered. This was true. Looking at a sample was important for young aspiring doctors, and Ratchet had felt the easiest way to address any ethical concerns was simply to use his own blueprints as a case study. He’d had no idea that Pharma would _save_ the data and mod his spike accordingly.

“You _could_ have just rigged your spike for the standard mean configuration,” Ratchet grumbled.

“That’s what you did, isn’t it?” Pharma beamed.

Ratchet was about to say it was none of his business, but given last night’s activities and their current line of discussion, it kind of was. “Yes,” Ratchet muttered.

“Which makes sense if your ideal berth partner is a randomized average Cybertronian, but I always try to take it that _extra step_.”

True. So true. Ratchet worried about that and also loved it. “What if I’d said no?” Ratchet asked.

Pharma shrugged. “Then some randomized average Cybertronian could make do with _good enough_.”

Ratchet couldn’t scold Pharma when he felt so secretly turned on and thrilled by Pharma’s gesture. “It’s not going to be so amazing from me,” he muttered instead into Pharma’s audio.

“If I don’t like it, no need to change,” Pharma breathed back. “If I _do_ like it, I can give you my blueprints.”

Custom modifying your spike to suit one mech alone sounded like a very serious commitment. Ratchet knew, without a doubt, that he’d do it if Pharma was the one who asked him.

Ratchet reminded himself that he needed empirical evidence to be certain about anything. Right now, though, he felt ready to take it on faith that his days as the Party Ambulance were over.

He’d found the mech he wanted to spend his life with.

“You’re incorrigible,” Ratchet teased, stroking Pharma’s cheek with his palm.

And Pharma smiled.


	4. Time Enough for Sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your kind comments :)

Chapter Four: Time Enough for Sadness

“I have a gift for you,” Pharma purred in Ratchet’s audio.

Ratchet still felt a little dazed. Having a lapful of blazing hot jet was something out of his private fantasies, not the kind of thing he’d ever expected to happen in reality. Ratchet had never imagined that Pharma’s crush on him would last long after Ratchet had done the right thing, turned his student down, and told him to seek out partners with a similar level of experience. Instead, Pharma had graduated medical training and gone into practice as a fully qualified doctor, and the whole time the torch he’d carried for Ratchet had just kept burning.

And, Ratchet realized, the inappropriate urges he felt for his favourite student—the feelings he’d kept tightly under wraps all this time—were still strong, and now, no longer inappropriate.

So here he was in a fancy hotel with Pharma. After spending the night shamelessly fragging and the morning cuddling and talking, things were once again heating up. Ratchet’s hands wandered across Pharma’s beautiful frame, seeking out hot spots to make the other doctor’s engine rev enthusiastically. Pharma was no slouch either; those graceful blue hands sought out all the sensory nodes along Ratchet’s spinal strut and played them like an instrument, sending zings of sensation shooting through Ratchet’s entire body. 

Ratchet responded to Pharma’s announcement with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Worry, because Pharma had confessed something Ratchet would never have guessed: for all Pharma had earned his player’s reputation by developing a masterful skill with his spike, Pharma had never once let any of his partners touch his valve. It suggested a sort of… _obsession_ …with the potential to become a real problem.

And excitement, because…well, Ratchet had to be honest. Maybe he ought to feel a little guilty about being all hot under the hood at the idea of being the first person to show Pharma how good a valve could feel. 

But the thought cranked his crankshaft just the same.

Ratchet wasn’t sure if Pharma was thinking what Ratchet thought he was thinking, but there was only one way to find out. “What’s that?” Ratchet murmured, reluctantly disentangling his fingers from Pharma’s turbine blades.

Pharma smiled.

Lazily crawled out of Ratchet’s lap and rolled onto his back.

Flicked open his valve panel with one flip of a blue finger.

Spread his thighs for the Chief Medical Officer.

Ratchet felt his mouth go dry. 

Pharma’s valve was every bit as beautiful as the rest of him. A pristine white ring, its outer lip was tinged with just the faintest hint of blue. It caught the light with a glossy shine, but Ratchet could not see any sign of lubricants, and the ring itself remained snugly closed. Pharma’s anterior node was brilliantly coloured, red with two parallel yellow lines.

“You’re lovely,” Ratchet breathed.

Pharma locked optics with Ratchet. The jet’s pose was provocative, splayed out across the berth, head resting on a pillow, valve exposed—but Pharma’s voice broke as he whispered two words: “Teach me.”

Ratchet moved forward—he could barely help himself—but though he let his own body cover Pharma’s until they rested chest-to-chest, Ratchet’s windshield brushing Pharma’s cockpit, he kept his own interface equipment behind its panels. Even if his spike was knocking at its cover in a bid to be free, Ratchet could read the hidden trepidation in Pharma’s face. “We don’t have to do this today,” Ratchet said.

Pharma drew in a shuddering breath. “Don’t you want me, Ratchet?”

When had Pharma ever sounded so uncertain of himself? “Of course I want you, but only when you’re ready.” Ratchet reached down and stroked Pharma’s thighs tenderly. “I’d like this not to be our last encounter.”

“Me too,” Pharma said.

“So, promise me. No more than you’re ready for. No more than you’re comfortable with. No more if you don’t like it.”

“I promise, Ratchet.”

Pharma still looked nervous. Ratchet would have to be very gentle.

The Chief Medical Officer rolled out of the berth and got to his feet. Pharma sat up on the slab, alarmed. “Ratchet? You’re…you’re not leaving, are you?”

“No.” Ratchet held out a hand to his lover. “Trust me?”

Pharma nodded as he put his hand in Ratchet’s. It was kind of cute, the way he chewed his bottom lip, just like when he was in the middle of a complex operation. Ratchet knew, though, that the unconscious gesture betrayed Pharma’s uncertainty. Perhaps even fear.

“I’d like you to sit up and put your legs over the side of the berth.”

“Like this?” Pharma did as ordered, using Ratchet’s arm for leverage as he scooted forward, but oh, Pharma was never one to just meekly follow orders. “With my aft perched right up on the edge?” he asked with a grin.

Ratchet was convinced the cockiness was meant to hide Pharma’s nervousness, but the thought of Pharma’s pert little aft was seriously distracting. 

“That’s good,” Ratchet said, and then, his optics fixed on Pharma’s the whole time, Ratchet went down on his knees.

Pharma gasped. His optics glittered. “Ratchet…I…”

“Don’t the priests always say worship is best done on one’s knees?”

Pharma’s breath hissed in his vents as he gasped.

Ratchet stroked Pharma’s legs with his free hand, admiring their delicate shape. “You’re very beautiful. I want to express my appreciation.”

Pharma whimpered. His knees quivered, as though he struggled between spreading his legs for Ratchet, as he felt he ought to, and keeping his thighs closed for protection.

“I’ll just look for now,” Ratchet said reassuringly. “I’d like to see your valve, if you’re ready to show me.”

Pharma dimmed his optics and wrenched his knees apart. His hand pulled away from Ratchet’s.

“Oh. You _are_ pretty.” Ratchet massaged Pharma’s inner thighs, but didn’t touch the valve, or even that lovely little node at its top.

Pharma peeked down at him. Ratchet smiled encouragingly. Pharma managed a small smile in return.

“Do you like…” Ratchet used the medical term for oral stimulation of a valve. There was no need to be crude, and Ratchet thought explicit language might intimidate Pharma more.

Pharma actually flushed. “I wouldn’t let anyone past my panel.”

“They never even _saw_?”

Pharma shook his head. “I…I waited for you…so…so try it,” he blurted, before he lost his nerve.

“Just the outside for now,” Ratchet said, reassuring Pharma he wouldn’t try to penetrate before Pharma expected it.

Then he kissed his lover very gently on the valve.

Pharma shuddered. Let out a long, slow exhale.

Ratchet kissed him there again.

“Oh,” Pharma said. “Ohhhh.”

Ratchet gently set his tongue tip on Pharma’s anterior node.

Pharma squealed and squirmed away.

Ratchet withdrew. “No?”

Pharma panted, his intakes flaring. “Don’t stop…do it…do it again,” Pharma said.

Ratchet obeyed. One lick. Two. Three. Pharma made encouraging sounds. Ratchet flicked the node with his tongue, and Pharma groaned, settling into the touch.

“Put your legs on my shoulders,” Ratchet murmured.

Pharma obeyed. Ratchet rewarded him with a series of rhythmic licks. Soon Pharma’s hips were pumping in time with Ratchet’s tongue.

“Oh, it’s good,” Pharma purred.

“I’d like to move down your valve,” Ratchet murmured, kissing around the area.

Pharma gasped, but nodded and managed to vocalize a shaky acceptance.

Ratchet moved slowly, licking a little lower each time. Pharma didn’t stop him. His ragged breathing slowed and deepened. Soon Ratchet was licking the full length of Pharma’s valve, which was beginning to soften and flare open. A single drop of delicate lubricant came to rest on the tip of Ratchet’s tongue as he licked.

“You’re very aroused,” Ratchet murmured, taking another break to massage Pharma’s thighs. “Your valve is blooming under my lips.”

“Am I…am I ready to frag?”

“Only you can tell me that,” Ratchet responded, “but I think I have another idea.”

Pharma whimpered.

“Something that I think will feel very good for both of us.”

“Ratchet,” Pharma panted. “Ratchet…you’re the best.”

Ratchet wasn’t certain that was true in the strictest empirical sense, but he felt ridiculously proud nonetheless to hear Pharma say so.

“Someday I’d love to slide my spike into this pretty valve,” Ratchet said, “but today, I think we should do something that might be more comfortable for you. Would you be willing to do something that isn’t spike-in-valve interface?”

Pharma looked down at Ratchet hesitantly. “Will you be disappointed?”

“Not in the least.”

“Will you…will you overload?”

“If this works, we’ll both overload.”

Pharma’s optics flickered. “Yes. Yes please.”

Ratchet felt his own fans quiver in their rotation. “I, ah, I’ve actually never tried this before. It was too hard to explain it to someone who wasn’t a medic.”

Pharma’s mouth curved in a smile. “Something you saved for me, then?”

Ratchet grinned. “Yes.”

“Oh, _let’s_.”

“You know how sensitive our hands are?”

Pharma nodded.

“Turn up the sensitivity in your left hand. To maximum.”

Ratchet caught Pharma’s left hand in his own and slipped Pharma’s index finger between his lips, where he mouthed it, licked it and suckled it just as he’d been doing to Pharma’s valve.

Pharma moaned.

“I’d like to do that,” Ratchet murmured into Pharma’s palm, “when I slip my finger into your valve.”

Pharma’s reply was an inarticulate mewl and an eager spread of his legs. The _yes_ didn’t need to be spoken to come across loud and clear.

“Are you ready?” Ratchet asked around Pharma’s finger, feeling a growing awareness in his right palm as he adjusted his tactile sensitivity. “You need to promise to tell me if you want me to stop.”

Pharma nodded, as though he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Ratchet eased Pharma’s hand out of his mouth. The jet whimpered, clearly already missing the sensation. Ratchet hated to disappoint him for even a few seconds, but he was going to need his mouth free for what he had in mind.

Ratchet licked his finger, quickly, spreading the maximum amount of lubricant on the digit as fast as he could. It was a bit messy—a string of fluid dangled from his lip—but he didn’t care. Ratchet leaned forward and pressed his tongue into Pharma’s waiting valve.

Pharma moaned.

Ratchet licked upward until his tongue rested on Pharma’s anterior node. He wrapped his lips around it and suckled while he carefully slipped his moistened finger between the furled sides of Pharma’s valve. 

Ratchet’s finger was partway to the first knuckle when he felt resistance. Ratchet pressed gently, but the resistance held, even though he wasn’t deep enough to even feel the grip of Pharma’s internal calipers.

Ratchet didn’t force his finger any deeper. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Pharma’s anterior node and resumed pleasuring him with his tongue. Little flicks, just the way Pharma liked it.

Pharma gasped. “Oh…Ratchet!” He arched into the pressure, and Ratchet felt the tension against the pad of his finger as Pharma’s hips moved.

“Do you like this?” Ratchet asked in between licks.

“Yes!”

Ratchet felt the moment Pharma relaxed. His finger slid deeper of its own accord, and then Ratchet felt the teasing flutter of calipers on the very tip of his finger. Ratchet groaned into Pharma’s node.

Pharma moaned as well.

That sound wasn’t a no, so Ratchet dared to try pressing again. This time his finger slid slowly into the receptive valve. Ratchet felt trembling calipers quivering against his extremely sensitive digit in a way that made his knees go weak and his own valve pulse in sympathy. He forced himself to stop at the second knuckle to give Pharma time to adjust.

Ratchet held his finger perfectly still while he laved Pharma’s node and valve rim with his tongue.

Pharma’s hips surged, pushing Ratchet’s digit a little deeper, but then Pharma stilled, whimpering. Ratchet withdrew the finger and licked it again, lapping up the taste of Pharma, generously applying moisture. Pharma made a needy sound, and Ratchet took the time to spare some licks from his lover, which made Pharma purr.

Then Ratchet slid his finger back inside again.

This time it moved much more easily. Pharma arched and pushed into the touch, helping Ratchet enter quickly. Ratchet almost missed what he was searching for…the first raised node cluster inside the valve.

Ratchet had to pull his hand back in order to place the pad of his finger on that node and gently stimulate it with the help of a carefully placed current.

Pharma’s engine skipped a note. Then his fans came on at maximum and his mouth opened in a cry. “Ratchet…Ratchet!”

“Good?” Ratchet asked, voice husky.

“Yes!”

Ratchet felt a spill of moisture over his fingertip. Pharma’s valve was lubricating, and that meant that Ratchet could try something new.

Ratchet slid his finger in and out of the valve, setting a slow and sensual rhythm, making sure to press that node with each thrust. Pharma keened, rocking his hips, and all the while Ratchet kept his mouth busy on Pharma’s anterior node. Ratchet’s optics sparkled with static from the sensation of that snug valve milking his very sensitive finger.

“Ratchet, don’t stop!” Pharma was very enthusiastic about this activity. “Ratchet…you’re the best…don’t stop!”

Ratchet had been considering aiming a little deeper for the next highest node cluster, but if Pharma was enjoying this, Ratchet wouldn’t press his luck. Oh, he wanted to tell his lover how beautiful he was, how delicious he was, how good his valve felt, but Ratchet’s mouth was far too busy. He would have to do it later. Ratchet savoured the glorious sensations and let Pharma do the same. 

Ratchet could have done this for a very long time, but after a while, Pharma’s vocalizations changed. “I want… want to overload,” the jet panted. “Ratchet, help me overload. Please.”

Ratchet couldn’t bear to hear Pharma beg. His poor lover’s thighs trembled, as though he’d been on the brink of an unreachable overload for some time now. And Ratchet had to admit, he wanted his finger hilted.

Ratchet withdrew. Pharma wailed. A few quick licks and Ratchet was back inside Pharma, this time sliding his finger through a mixture of his own oral lubricant and Pharma’s juices, right up over that node and higher, until the pad of his finger landed on another, deeper node and Pharma’s valve clenched tightly around the base of Ratchet’s finger.

Ratchet stimulated that node with a back-and-forth motion while Pharma’s calipers squeezed his finger and his tongue lapped Pharma’s glistening wet anterior node…

Pharma overloaded with a loud cry like an emergency siren. Between that sound, and the way Pharma’s valve went into overdrive, gripping and squeezing Ratchet’s sensitive digit, Ratchet was not far behind him. He managed one more kiss to Pharma’s node before his own overload overtook him.

Carefully, gently, Ratchet pulled his finger free. The room was already a mess, so he didn’t feel badly about distractedly wiping it off on the bedding. He pressed a feather-light kiss to Pharma’s valve before rising onto his feet and taking a seat beside Pharma. A seat that was, in all honesty, more like falling onto the berth when his shaking legs rebelled at supporting him.

Pharma’s optics were wide. His vents drew in shallow breaths. His wings quivered.

“Pharma?” Ratchet asked.

Pharma grabbed Ratchet in a hug so tight it was almost painful. He clambered up into the Chief Medical Officer’s lap, clinging as though to let go would be to lose Ratchet forever.

Ratchet folded his arms around Pharma and kissed his forehead.

“I love you,” Pharma whispered, his voice raw. 

Ratchet was so far beyond pretending. “I love you too.”

“I want…” Pharma pressed his chest against Ratchet’s, settling into a position where he straddled Ratchet’s legs. “I want to be with you. Forever.” He licked his lips nervously. “I want you to be my _conjunx endura_.”

Ratchet felt a thrill of pure joy warm his spark as he held Pharma close. “I want that, too.” 

Only when the words had left his lips did Ratchet realize how crazy it was to seek to pledge your life to another after a single wild night. He ought to tell Pharma to slow it down, think twice, reconsider. Except that Ratchet did not want Pharma to reconsider. Ratchet already knew that he wanted to spend his life with Pharma.

The only protest that Ratchet could manage was a teasing, “But isn’t it the senior partner who’s supposed to ask that question of the junior?”

Pharma grinned. “Oh, you’ll have to ask me in a public venue. Preferably after we’ve been courting for a while. Appearances to keep up, you know.” He winked. “But you and I will both know we’re together, effective now.”

“You think I’d be afraid to tell everyone I took an offer from my former student?” 

“No,” Pharma replied with a wicked smile, “I think you’d be afraid to tell everyone what I gave you for a courting gift.”

Ratchet choked. Pharma laughed, his voice like a peal of bells. Ratchet kissed him to quiet him, and the next thing he knew…

Well.

This was exactly the sort of behaviour that could be expected from a newly courting couple.

#

Memories wrapped Ratchet like warm, soft tarps. They stroked his frame, holding in heat, keeping him snug. Their fibres caressed him with each tiny movement of his body. He and Pharma had come so very far since then. Ratchet smiled to remember the night of their formal declaration: a public request, Pharma’s feigned surprise, the crowd clapping and cheering, Pharma lifting his courtship gift, a specialized wrench engraved with the phrase _in service of love_.

And yet, Pharma was right. He and Ratchet both, always, knew better. Ratchet would never forget how their relationship had truly started. How Pharma had looked kneeling over him that first night in that stylish hotel.

Or how Pharma had looked the next morning, splayed out across that decadent berth, spreading his thighs for Ratchet. Asking Ratchet to teach him just one last thing.

Dear Primus, just the thought of it made Ratchet’s equipment ache.

Ratchet was ever so fortunate that he had his beloved Pharma right here in his arms, engine purring, eager to please. Ratchet’s panel snapped open, extending his spike. The click was so loud that it practically echoed, and Ratchet’s faceplates burned while Pharma laughed in unrestrained delight. Ratchet supposed he ought to forget about being embarrassed when his inability to control himself around his mate made Pharma so very happy.

But then a dark warning rippled in the back of his mind. His deep memory banks flashed a warning: things with Pharma had changed. When? Ratchet wasn’t sure. What? Ratchet couldn’t quite recall.

The image of caution lights continued to play in his mind. Slowly, a few nebulous thoughts coalesced.

These days, it seemed as though Pharma was only ever interested in Ratchet’s valve, and when Ratchet felt in the mood for some spike play, Pharma occasionally engaged half-heartedly, but usually shot him down. Pharma was into dirty talk now, too, the sort of thing where he called Ratchet a buymech and worse. Sometimes the degradation got uncomfortably realistic, to the point where these caution lights went off in Ratchet’s head every time Pharma was in the mood. 

Ratchet knew better than to complain, though. Pharma always whined about Ratchet being selfish, and he _needed_ this why didn’t Ratchet _understand_ , and it was all just a _game_ anyway. Their formerly good-natured competition outside of the berth had turned bitter and nasty, and Ratchet wondered where it had all gone wrong.

Except that tonight, Pharma seemed absolutely delighted to see Ratchet’s spike.

“Well, _hello_ ,” Pharma purred, as he reached down to stroke ever so gently over the head. “Why Ratchet, did you get this just for _me_?” Long, slender fingers curled loosely about the shaft. “It’s _magnificent_.”

Ratchet decided the warning voice in his head clearly did not know what in the frag it was talking about.

Pharma moved his hand, stroking Ratchet’s spike. Ratchet arched his back into the touch. “Pharma,” Ratchet moaned. “Pharma, _yes_.”

“What would you like me to do to you, Ratchet?” It was a familiar question. Ratchet knew he wouldn’t get any relief at all until he came up with an answer.

“Frag me,” Ratchet whispered. “Frag me every way you know how.”

And Pharma knew a lot of ways. Ratchet decided he’d let his lover pick the order. Right now, it didn’t matter to Ratchet what method Pharma chose. This felt so blessedly good. And it seemed as though it had been so very long since he’d felt Pharma’s decadent touch. 

Ratchet was utterly willing to let Pharma have him any way he wanted, as often as he wanted, as hard as he wanted. Ratchet didn’t care, as long as Pharma was at him and in him, soothing this tension screaming in his frame. “More,” he muttered. “Please, more.”

Pharma’s clever fingers kept working their magic on Ratchet’s spike, and it just felt…so…good. Ratchet let his brain fog over with pleasure, laying back and enjoying it, groaning Pharma’s name over and over. Primus, but no one had ever been able to hit his hot spots with such precision.

Ratchet had only just started to wonder what Pharma’s other hand might be up to when he felt a delicate, teasing contact at his valve. He gasped in shock and delight.

“Pharma?”

“Look at you,” Pharma purred. “Can’t decide between your spike and your valve, can you?”

No. No, he couldn’t.

Ratchet loved valve play. It was, perhaps, his favourite. And yet spike play was so rare these days. He couldn’t decide. He couldn’t.

And Pharma seemed more than happy to give him both. At the same time. One hand milking his spike. Two…three fingers curled up into his valve.

Ratchet loved it, but still he wanted more. He wanted it so badly. He wanted Pharma’s smiling lips wrapped around his spike. He wanted Pharma’s clever tongue buried deep in his valve. He didn’t care if Pharma wanted to jack in—he’d like it, love it even—if only Pharma would first lick, suck, kiss. 

“Please,” Ratchet begged. “Please, Pharma…use your mouth. Please lick me…I need you. Pharma. I need you. Please…”

Pharma smiled, and Ratchet could not tell if it was taunting mockery or the prelude to indulgence. Pharma’s fingers on one hand pressed insistently on the sweet spot just under the jack on Ratchet’s spike, and Pharma’s fingers on the other hand rubbed the tender node deep inside Ratchet’s valve, and Ratchet couldn’t hold on at all against that intimate and devastating onslaught.

“Pharma…I’m going to… _Pharma…_ ”

Pharma just smiled, and didn’t even slow down. Ratchet closed his optics, shuddered one last time, and overloaded, hard. The force of his climax drove the sleep from his mind, pushing him towards wakefulness.

When he opened his eyes, fully awake, he realized he had his own fingers up his valve, and his own hand clasped around his spike.

Except…not his own.

_Delphi._

_Red Rust._

_Pharma._

Disgusted, Ratchet dropped his spike as though it had burned him. He jerked his new hand out of his valve, revolted by the wet sound it made as his borrowed fingers fled the syrupy grasp of his calipers. 

He sat there, alone in his berth, his legs covered in his own transfluid, his own lubricants staining stolen fingers, and he felt thoroughly and utterly disgusted.

He’d been jerking himself off while thinking about the ex he’d killed, with that ex’s own hands, which he’d taken and bolted to his own wrists. That was _sick_ , and wrong and…Ratchet didn’t even have words for it.

He’d loved Pharma, once. He cared for him still. 

And yet he’d killed him and scavenged the body. Desecrated it.

Ratchet struggled to rationalize his choice as he made his way to the wash station to clean himself up. H had acted in self-defence and in defense of his fellow Autobots. Ratchet had not even been the one to strike the fatal blow. That had been Drift. 

Still, Ratchet could not deny that he had been a crucial link in the chain that led to whichever fate Pharma had chosen for himself. The part of him who still loved Pharma held the rest of him to account for Pharma’s death.

Ratchet wondered if, in the end, Pharma had chosen to fall to his doom, or transform and start rotting away inside. He wondered if it had even been a choice, or if, seeing the ground rising up to smite him, Pharma’s instincts had activated his transformation cog and turned him into a jet before his conscious mind could argue why that choice was the worst of all possible worlds. It would be some irony, Pharma dying of his own virus.

And yet, Ratchet felt guilty. He hadn’t argued that they should look for Pharma. Pharma could have still been alive when the _Lost Light_ broke orbit.

Pharma was certainly dead now.

Ratchet looked down at his trophy hands and sighed. No, there was nothing he could do to change the past. He thought of the eager young medical student, looking up at him with stars in his optics; the hungry new graduate, watching him with a sly smile; and the madman, raving to a dying mech that he, Pharma, in the end had outsmarted Tarn and Ratchet and everyone else. Pharma was beyond saving now.

It hurt, every time Ratchet lost a patient. To lose the mech he’d once loved more than anyone hurt most of all.

Taking Pharma’s hands had been the logical thing to do. It would do no good to anyone for them to rust away with the rest of the body, even as Ratchet’s original hands seized up until he was of no use to anyone. At least this way the Autobots still had one functioning medic out of two. At least this way, a small part of Pharma was still doing good.

Ratchet could only imagine what Drift would say. Some nonsense about the hands being haunted. Something about carrying a piece of Pharma’s spirit around with him wherever he went.

Grudgingly, Ratchet was forced to admit that it was kind of creepy to be carrying a piece of his dead lover’s body around on his frame. To use these hands to pleasure himself was perverse. Ratchet supposed that he would not be doing _that_ any more.

He felt a brief pang of loss, but it passed quickly. He’d not been self-servicing that often as it was. These days he buried himself in work, driving himself until he fell into recharge from sheer exhaustion. At first it had been about keeping too busy to notice that Pharma was gone; then it was too busy to become lonely. Finally he found himself too busy to think of interface much at all, and that had been a sort of mercy. His party days were long gone. 

Ratchet wiped himself down, rinsing away the physical signs of his sin. Primus, he didn’t even want to clean his spike with these hands. He had to stop thinking of them as Pharma’s, and start thinking of them as his own. He was going to have to paint them to match his own colours. The sooner, the better.

And he would not give any more thought to the idea that he carried a little piece of Pharma around with him, not only on his wrists but in his mind, and in his spark.

Ratchet feared that little piece of Pharma would still haunt him, long after these hands were dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why it won't let me signify that this is the end, but...Chapter 4 is the end. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
